1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi
by DrayMiaOnly
Summary: Sam doesn't know that his brother will die a million deaths, all exactly the same, hellhound mauling him, it's teeth cutting deep past flesh and bones, ripping veins and arteries, a bullet eventually interrupting it's grotesque feast.


**A/N:** This fic is... not easy to explain. That's what I get for writting while I'm running a fever. It's complicated. Just read. And read "Einstein's Dreams" too, okay? And tell me what you think. About both.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Dean and Sam belong to Kripke. The time concepts come from the book **"Einstein's Dreams"** by Alan Lightman.  
><strong>Story Details:<strong> Set during Dean's 'Year', with a spin-off in episode 3x16 "No Rest for the Wicked" (Sam shoots Dean while the latter is being mauled from the Hellhound -but only because Dean asks him to). The story also stretches beyond Dean's return in episode 4x01 "Lazarus Rising".  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Generically dark themes. A little bit of gore?('m not sure.) Character's death (-but not exactly.)

* * *

><p><em>00:00<em>

Time is a flock of nightingales; elusive birds that can be caught and trapped in bell jars.

Children are the only ones quick enough to catch these birds, since fate is fond of irony. You see, children already have too much time; they have an immeasurable amound at their disposal in order to grow up. Which they tend to do in a hurry. Ergo, children don't want time; they don't need it.

The grown-ups, the sick, the dying; they are the ones who spend all their waking hours searching for these nightingales, but they're too slow to catch the time they desperately want.

When Sam is eleven, he catches a nightingale. He can feel it's fluttering movements as he traps the bird between his two small hands. "Here, Dean," he says, offering the nightingale to his brother. Now, Dean will never grow old, will never die, will never leave him.

"Sammy, every man has his time to go," Dean says, as he takes the bird gently from Sam's hands. "One day, so will I. And you'll have to live on without me. That's the way the world works."

Dean sets the nightingale free. It flies away into the sky.

And Sam cries; huge wracking sobs, for the realization that death comes to every man, even his brother, even in this world where time can be trapped in a bell jar.

_04:00_

Time is a visible dimension. It's as tangible as height or width, and it's simply one more direction to run to. You can see time stretching out into the far-off distance... your future; which in minutes is much closer than the end of your path.

Those who wish to stay in the current moment hold still, seeking comfort in the time with which they're familiar. Those who want to chase down their future run headlong down the axis of time... they run as fast as they can; eager to get bigger, grow wiser, see things they haven't yet seen.

When they were young, Sam and Dean ran. Their father pushed Dean forward in time -_you need to help me, look after your brother, take care of him_- and Dean obeyed willingly, wanting to get to the point where his dad could believe in him. He wanted to be a grown-up.

Sam followed, because wherever Dean went, Sam wasn't far behind. As soon as Sam could run, he did, and together they grew up fast.

So fast.

And then the day came when Sam ran past Dean, beyond where Dean could follow. "I'm going to college," Sam announced, and he ran off into his future and didn't look back.

By now, that Sam is old enough to realize that maybe what he wants is what he already had, wishes he could go back. Back to when he and Dean were kids, when Dean was his best friend, forever and always.

But time, funnily enough, is a one-way street.

_08:00_

Time has a physical center; where it stops.

It's a vortex in which time slows and slows, until you reach the core. As you approach said center, time goes progressively slower; it takes days, then weeks, then months to take one step.

So many people make pilgrimages to the heart of time. It has become a temple, an arena of human statues, poised in snapshots of stagnation. Frozen. An old man clutching a cane. Parents hugging their child -a child who will never grow old, never die. Two lovers tangling in a kiss that will last for eons.

"We should go there," Sam says off-handedly, one day.

Dean glances at him, eyes clouded, troubled. "Why?" he asks, but he already knows the answer.

Sam doesn't want to say the words. He just wants Dean to agree with him, pack up and go. It's an even better option than Europe or Australia, now that Sam thinks about it.

Sam would get Dean to go there, and they'd never have to worry about what lays ahead of them ever again. Sam would never have to hunt another demon, would never have to see his brother die, would never have to think about past or future or anything but the present.

"We were never the type to run away from problems," Dean murmurs.

"It's not running," Sam says, exasperated. "I just-"

"I know," Dean breathes gently. "But it can't be that way, and you know it. That's not living, Sammy."

Sam wants to scream _"And what the hell do you call having to live without you?"_ but Dean doesn't like to hear such things, so he doesn't say anything at all.

_12:00_

Time can be sensed; like light and sound, or a scent carried by the wind. It's a nagging thought in the back of the brain, a sensation that's felt through the body and soul.

Normally, no one notices; because time has a slow inevitable progression that cannot be stopped or changed. Normally, time is just a hum of a melody; the background noise that everyone forgets about until someone mentions it.

That is, until the end of the world comes.

Everyone can feel it then; the approach of the end of time. The nagging thought in the back of their minds suddenly becomes a full-blown warning tingle, the equivalent of the hackles on their necks rising in an unexpected shiver.

Strangely, no one goes crazy -well, a few do, a few always will- and everyone seems to accept that their time has come. What's the point in fighting it?

In their chosen last minute, Sam and Dean sit side by side on the hood of Dean's old Impala. They are both watching the sky, wondering what will happen. They can feel their time ending, winding down, coming to it's final stop.

"Hell of a ride while it lasted," Dean says, breaking the long silence.

Sam knocks his shoulder against Dean's companionably but doesn't talk.

"It'll be okay. You know that, right?" Dean asks; the urge to reassure his little brother relentless, timeless, ancient.

Sam glances at Dean, right into his brother's eyes, and feels the last seconds of their time flutter past. "Yeah," he replies, and Dean smiles.

_16:00_

Time is an arrow. A freight train that can't be stopped. A bullet that can't be dodged.

They've come to this point, the end of their road, that Sam had hoped would never come and Dean had dreaded, and it was as unavoidable as the orbit of the earth around the sun.

But there has to be something. _Something_. Sam refuses to believe that there's no final choice in the matter. Destiny is crap, there's always a choice, goddammit it all. There_ has_ to be a way out of this. There always is.

Dean is snarling at him, "Shoot me. _Shoot_ me." Then, when Sam hesitates, Dean starts yelling. "C'mon, Sam! While I can still ask you to do this... Do it."

Inside his own head, Sam is screaming. Goddammit, _why_, WHY?

When did it come to this? When did everything spin so out of control, skid so far ahead that Sam couldn't stop it? His brother, his world is falling apart... and they're both crumbling to pieces around him.

"Damn it..." Dean sounds so tired, so old... and so in pain Sam has a hard time breathing. "_Please_."

And Sam pulls the trigger, dying inside.

_20:00_

Time moves backwards; effects coming before causes, death preceding life.

How does that work? How do people live, when everything they do is a reversal of something that already was? Do people speak in reverse? Do they walk backwards?

No. People walk forwards, people speak much the same as always, and their lives, to them, seem to be moving linearly straight.

Sam doesn't remember his brother's death. His memory operates like visions of the future. He remembers something that will happen. He anticipates the past like a long-awaited friend. He digs his shovel into Dean's grave, lifting and tossing out the soft dirt. He's not upset. He's waiting.

Waiting for the moment when Dean will breathe his last breath, regain the color on his face, rise out of the grave. Then they can grow young together, back to when their dad was alive, back to the days when they were stupid and reckless.

Sam remembers when Dean was twenty-seven and he had laughed loud and long about itching powder in Sam's underwear, when Dean was a lanky fourteen-year-old who Sam followed everywhere, when Dean was a soft, small child who used to curl up around Sam and kissed him on the forehead at night before bed.

Sam wants to live those memories, wants the moment when they become real.

So Sam unearths Dean's coffin, and waits for the past.

_24:00_

Time is a circle, looping over and over again; the world repeating itself into infinity.

Almost no one is aware of it. No one knows that every moment will be repeated, exactly the same, for all eternity. How could anyone know? It's like a bug crawling around the rim of a coffee cup, unaware that it has run the same path more than once. To each person, every birth is the first, every death is the last, and every second in between is felt anew each time.

Sam doesn't know that his brother will die a million deaths, all exactly the same, hellhound mauling him, it's teeth cutting deep past flesh and bones, ripping veins and arteries, a bullet eventually interrupting it's grotesque feast. He doesn't know that their path of life will play out in exactly the same way from start to finish. He doesn't know that every misstep, every mistake, will be repeated. Forever.

It could be named fate or destiny or some other impressive word, but it's merely time moving in it's large inconceivable loop.

But, sometimes... Sam is plagued by nightmares. He wakes up shaking and shivering. When Dean asks him what's wrong, Sam looks at him with haunted eyes. "Sometimes I feel _trapped_," he says, and Dean doesn't understand what the hell that means.

"I feel like this has happened before," Sam explains. "All of it..." Sam shivers.

Dean thinks his brother is sleep-talking, not making sense, and he says, "It's okay, Sammy. Go back to sleep. I'll be here."

"I know," Sam replies as he takes a steadying breath. "You always are. That's... that's the one good thing."

"Right," Dean agrees slowly, wondering what the hell Sam is talking about.

_01:00_


End file.
